


Happy Valentine's Day Stan Marsh

by boitanosbitch



Series: FNAK [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, only a smidgeon of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boitanosbitch/pseuds/boitanosbitch
Summary: Kyle's first Valentine's as a non-single person is challenging, to say the least.Continuation of Five Nights at Kyle's, can be read as a stand alone.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Series: FNAK [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191827
Comments: 19
Kudos: 46





	Happy Valentine's Day Stan Marsh

**Author's Note:**

> apparently I can only write holidays after they have just passed... if you read FNAK, this takes place in between the last chapter and the epilogue.

Kyle had assumed they’d do nothing until Stan started being a dick about it. 

“I’m just saying,” he’d mentioned over the sound of screeching tires as he stole a car in GTA. “I’m really good at Valentine’s Day. Not to brag, or anything.”

“What the fuck does that even mean? How can you be _good_ at a holiday?”

Stan had smirked. “You’ll see.”

This comment has become a source of stress for the last two weeks. To begin with, Kyle isn’t sure exactly how it’s meant to be celebrated with a partner, much less one that no one else knows about. The things that spring to mind fall under the category of “grand gestures” and Kyle finds it unlikely that any of them will be viable given their need for secrecy. He’s done the basics—chalky hearts with bland sentiments, generic note cards given blindly to any classmate with a pulse. This is different, requires thought and delicacy. No one has ever described Kyle as delicate in his whole life. Needless to say, he finds the whole thing excessively daunting.

He shows up the customary ten minutes early to Julie Bracknell’s house for tutoring, ringing the bell with a three-tone chime. Her family isn’t rich enough to live in Token’s gated community, but they’re close. Mrs. Bracknell opens the door, decked in a swirl of teal and khaki. She leads him into the high-ceilinged foyer, gesturing to the dining room where the tutoring takes place. History isn’t his strongest suit, but non-honors ninth grade world history is unchallenging enough that he doesn’t feel completely guilty accepting the $50 an hour they pay him. 

“Julie will just be a few minutes,” Mrs. Bracknell says. “She’s finishing up with her violin teacher.”

Kyle hums in acknowledgment, setting his stuff out on the table. Half an art project is laid out on the other end, pink construction paper and craft scissors under a pile of glitter. Six days until Valentine’s. He stares into space, wondering if he’s daring enough to make Stan a card that could theoretically be discovered by a member of his family if he’s not careful. 

“Oh, are you looking at the lilies?” she asks, alerting Kyle to the fact that she’s still standing there. “They’re just stunning, aren’t they?”

He focuses his eyes on the vase in front of him. “Uh, yeah, gorgeous.”

“Peter gets me a fresh batch every few days—not always lilies, of course, it depends on the season. He always does irises for Valentine’s, says they complement my eyes.”

Her eyes are a muddy green, seemingly removed from the entire color spectrum of an iris. How does that make sense? God, Kyle is screwed.

He swallows, ventures, “Is that all he gets you?”

“Ha!” She flops her hand to her chest. “Don’t you worry, he spoils me plenty. I don’t mean this to sound—well, you understand. It’s just when we’ve been doing so well, the expensive things don’t mean as much. It’s all about the intention.”

Kyle nods, wondering if this means he should buy Stan something since he’s not well off, or if cheap and thoughtful is always the way to go.

She clears her throat. “If you want my advice, I’d ask her to describe a perfect day and go from there.”

“Oh, um, I—”

“And surprises go a long way, no matter how small.” Her smile is conspiratorial. He has a feeling more questions will follow, stomach clenching. 

“Uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Does she go to school with you? I might know her mother.”

“Um—”

“God, Mom,” Julie thunders down the stairs, rounding the corner into the dining room. “Stop being a freak. Go.”

“Sweetheart, we were just talking.”

“Cool, and you can go now. Bye.” Julie treats her mother to a condescending wave, Mrs. Bracknell backing away with a sigh. Once she’s disappeared around the corner, Julie shouts, “Can you make me a smoothie? No flaxseed!” To Kyle, “Just ignore her, she’s so annoying.”

Kyle feels equal parts distaste and jealousy—that she would dare to speak to her mother that way and the very fact that she can, without consequence. It’s only twenty minutes before Julie herself decides to use Kyle’s love life as a distraction from the lesson, pestering him with questions about his fictional female paramour. He eventually settles on revealing that she’s in his grade, he hasn’t asked her out yet, and she has no idea that he likes her. If things hadn’t gone the way they had at Christmas, it wouldn’t be so far from the truth. He does his best to keep his blush down, trying and failing to redirect her inquiries back to the French Revolution. 

“I think you should make her a mix CD or a playlist,” Julie says near the end of the session, when Kyle had just begun to think she’d moved on. 

“What?” 

She shrugs. “That’s what I’d want, if I was her.”

It’s not a bad idea, but more in Stan’s wheelhouse than his own. He pretends to accept the suggestion, ignoring her beaming smile and only partly thinking how different her reaction would be if she knew the truth.

That night, over Xbox, Kyle gathers the courage to ask, “How would you describe a perfect day?”

Stan narrowly saves Kyle’s character from attack. “What?”

“I’m working on something for—” He remembers they share an English class and Stan will know if he makes up an assignment. “Julie’s English class.”

“I thought you tutored her in history.”

“Yeah, well, now she needs English help, too.”

Stan snorts. “She totally has a crush on you.”

“ _What?_ No she doesn’t.” 

“Dude, are you serious? I’ve seen her point you out when we’re at school. Like, when she’s all huddled up with her friends. They do that fucking blush and giggle bullshit.”

Kyle knows what Stan’s referring to, but had been hopeful he was overthinking it. 

“She doesn’t have a crush on me. She’s way too young.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s probably _why_ she has a crush on you. No offense. It’s the older guy thing. Remember how Shelly only wanted to date like, forty-year-olds in middle school?”

Kyle remembers, vaguely, as baffled then as he is now. 

“Are you gonna answer the fucking question or what?”

“What’s a perfect day? I don’t know.” Stan mashes the buttons, barely escaping his character’s demise. “I’m asleep for 24 hours.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. That sounds fucking amazing.” 

“So if you had a day entirely to yourself you’d just sleep?”

“Well,” he says, leaning over to nip at Kyle’s earlobe, eyes still on the screen. “Maybe not _just_ sleep.”

“Oh my god,” Kyle shoves him off, laughing reflexively from being tickled. His character is dead when he looks back. “You’re such a stereotype.”

Stan shrugs. “If you wanted to date a girl, you would, wouldn’t you?”

Kyle sighs. “Besides the point.”

“What is your point? We’re not gonna have a perfect day anytime soon, so. I try not to think about it.”

Kyle has to agree, though he regrets the somber turn of this conversation. Valentine’s Day is on a Monday this year, all the usual expectations of school, tutoring, and family dinner withstanding. Even if it was on the weekend, it would be suspicious to disappear with Stan for hours or lock themselves in his bedroom on such a notorious date. The gay jokes returned after the blow up at Kyle’s party over break, and there’s a tiny part of himself that knows he won’t be able to keep it from his family forever. If he could have it any way, it’d be like that. Just them, alone, doing whatever they felt like without the worry of prying eyes. That’s his idea of a perfect day. But seeing as those are in short supply, he’ll have to go a more cliched route. 

Kyle is good at showing his love in exactly two ways: hooking up with Stan, and pining for him in silence for years on end—which, as is made clear by the description, falls short of the “showing” part. He’d get Stan another game that he’s mentioned wanting, but Kyle’s not in a position to be throwing cash around, no matter how much he thinks Stan would like it. And is that too big of a gesture anyway? It’s not just a matter of showing too much to outsiders, but of showing too much to Stan himself. God forbid they get this far and then end up back in cold and awkward hell, Kyle having come on too strong too quickly.

The key, he thinks, is to meet Stan exactly where he’s at. So long as his gesture is no bigger or smaller than Stan’s, everything will be alright. 

* * *

Three days until Valentine’s, he corners Wendy during free reading time in Economics. ‘Corners’ is a strong way of putting it—his seat is already directly behind hers—but they have an unspoken agreement that they’ll respect each other’s study time by not speaking, unlike the rest of the class. Calling her name and tapping on her shoulder until she turns around is akin to lobbing a molotov cocktail through her front window.

“What?” she asks, hand jammed into the crease of her workbook, saving her place. 

“Um.” It was difficult enough drumming up the courage to call her attention, let alone figuring out what to say. “I have kind of a weird question.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now.”

She sighs as courteously as possible. “Ok? What is it?”

“When you and Stan dated—” Already her expression has shifted to shocked confusion. “What did you guys do for Valentine’s Day?”

“Um, what?” She blinks at him, her face somewhere between concern and offense. 

“Just like, what stuff did you guys do? Was it like presents, or a date, or like, I don’t know. Chocolates and flowers and shit?”

She shakes her head, clearly unable to settle on an emotion. “Why are you asking me this?”

“No reason.” Too fast, he responded way too fast. He clears his throat. “I just need like, advice. I don’t want to get into it.”

She narrows her eyes. “Just because it’s what Stan and I did together doesn’t mean I liked it.”

“Oh. Ok? Like… what? What did you do?”

She shrugs. “Normal stuff, I guess. He got me a bouquet and balloons, usually. A hallmark card. We weren’t really old enough to hang out alone very often, especially on Valentine’s, since my parents—well. You know. They didn’t want any ‘funny business.’”

Kyle nods. “Right. Totally. Um, is that what you did for him too, or...?” 

“Did someone put you up to this? You’re being very odd.”

“No. I’m not being odd. What?” If he were her, he’d have turned around by now. 

She sighs. “Did that answer your question?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She turns around, tossing her hair so it obscures the page of his textbook where it lands. 

Great. 

At least he knows what to expect now. Standard Valentine’s fare. When does Stan plan on giving this to him? Does Kyle need to have a talk with him about discretion? Probably not, Stan’s not an idiot. But then there’s the gifts themselves… How difficult will it be for Kyle to pretend he likes them? Maybe he will, it’s a gift from Stan after all, and he once held onto Stan’s name card from a mock trial in seventh grade for four years. Surely anything that he gives Kyle, especially something representing his romantic sentiments, will be pleasing to him in some capacity. Never mind that he has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do with balloons or a bear holding a heart, waxy chocolates he won’t eat. It’ll be fine. If he doesn’t love Stan enough to pretend to like his cheesy gifts, he doesn’t deserve him.

* * *

The weekend of February 12th-13th is spent mostly in the company of others. Sheila’s birthday falls on the 12th and Kyle’s father thinks it’s fitting to dedicate the entire weekend to her whims. They go to the Cheesecake Factory for her birthday dinner after a prolonged Shabbat lunch, followed by a chick-flick that no one except her had interest in seeing. Kyle doesn’t understand why dragging people to things they don’t enjoy is fun for her, but he keeps his mouth shut. His father doesn’t complain once the entire day, even when they bring him the wrong order at the restaurant which contains pine nuts and makes his lips swell, or when his chair at the theater breaks halfway through the movie.

“Are you ok?” Kyle asks his dad as they exit the theater, who pops another Benadryl.

“Yep,” Gerald says, eyes searching for his wife who is thankfully out of earshot.

“Seriously? Don’t you want to go home? We have ice cream in the fridge, I’m sure Mom will be fine if—”

“Kyle,” his father warns. “Just drop it. Trust me.”

Kyle looks back at his mother, licking her palm and smoothing it over Ike’s wild hair as he wrenches himself away. “But aren’t you, like, miserable?”

“Your mother’s birthday is two days before Valentine’s. I do what I have to.”

Once they’re home they sit at the dining table to watch her open presents. Gifts for Kyle’s mother are easy, seeing as she tells him exactly what to get her. Kyle’s the same way, having already given his family a birthday list four months ahead of time, outlining their options of desk organizer, multitool, and a very particular reusable water bottle. It goes without saying that Stan’s gift will be weed, which is perfectly fine with Kyle. For Sheila, Stan got her a manicure set she asked for, though Kyle knows she’ll still spend money getting her nails done professionally at least twice a month. 

Stan had slipped Kyle a gummy edible in the backseat on the way to Cold Stone, which is only kicking in now, seated around the dining table. He’s bold enough to place his hand on Kyle’s knee under the table, and Kyle is high enough to allow it. He watches the clock, waiting for his mother to declare that she’s exhausted by 9:30 like usual. If he weren’t high, Kyle would’ve made a bigger fuss about being asked to clean up the kitchen, finish the dishes from lunch with Stan. As it is, he bites his tongue and they stand side by side at the sink, washing and drying respectively. Their elbows brush and Kyle hates that this is the most alone time they’ll have today with lights on. Sometimes he gets fixated on that, the literal darkness that follows their time together. Before his family had returned from Toronto, Kyle relished spending whole afternoons with Stan stretched over his lap while they played video games in the living room. Scuffling in the backyard where Kyle could wrap his arms around Stan’s waist and shove snow down the front of his jeans, placate him with a kiss under the cloud cover. Now their relationship is pushed to the edges of each night, fumbling for each other with eyes closed against the dark. He hates it. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice, Stan reminds him, to avoid hassle and haranguing from parents and peers, but Kyle wonders how much longer he can stand this. He wants to love him without caveats. Is that really so much to ask? 

Tucked under the covers, Kyle grumbles an approximation of this exact complaint.

“I know,” Stan sighs, grazing his nails down Kyle’s side. “It’s just bad luck that it’s also her birthday.”

Kyle snorts. “Tell me about it.”

“The zoo should be fun tomorrow, though.”

Kyle hums. He’d rather fake a flu than go, but he’s used up all his excuses for the next ten years on the Toronto trip.

“Besides,” Stan sighs. Kyle can feel his smirk against his skin. “I’ve got something big planned for Monday.”

_“Big?”_

“Not big as in flashy or anything, don’t worry.”

“...I’m a little worried.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses Kyle’s jaw and settles in. “I told you I’m good at Valentine’s, remember?”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“Dude, it’s fine. I don’t have any expectations for you, I promise.”

Kyle’s mother insists the same thing every year for her birthday, but Kyle knows if there was even an iota less fanfare they’d all pay the price. But Stan’s not his mother—nothing like her, in fact, which is part of the appeal. He falls asleep with Stan’s breath in his ear, weighing the pros and cons of plain chocolates vs. chocolate-covered strawberries.

* * *

The zoo is pretty fun overall, though Kyle wishes he could wander off with Stan for longer. They spend 20 minutes getting kettle corn from a stand, letting a family of five cut in front of them in line and digging out exact change from his wallet to delay their return. Denver’s a liberal city, he could grab Stan’s hand as they walk back to his family and no one would say anything—they probably wouldn’t even look—but Kyle leaves his hand swinging at his side, healthy distance left between the two of them. Stan’s hair looks lighter in the sunlight, little details Kyle rarely gets to focus on nowadays. His neck is starting to burn, and Kyle indulges himself by pulling them off to the side to rub sunblock onto his skin, pinching Stan when he makes a quiet but pronounced moan for comedic effect. 

Stan is fully in his element, reading aloud info placards to Kyle’s family about the feeding habits, lifespan and habitat of each animal they visit. Ike is surprisingly interested, chit-chatting with Stan about which ones are the male and the female based on their colorings. At the lemur exhibit, Kyle has the thought that Stan would make an excellent father and then banishes it, hating that his brain is starting to mimic women with waning fertility windows. He’s not even eighteen years old for fuck’s sake. Get a grip, Broflovksi. 

They return around 7:30, Sheila declaring that she won’t be cooking dinner and they can each fend for themselves. Stan takes a shower while Kyle rummages through the fridge, his brother and father unaccounted for. Sheila sits at the table scrolling through her phone, munching on carrot sticks and hummus. He sits across from her with a container of potato salad, eating around the celery chunks.

After several minutes of silence, Kyle clears his throat. “So, did you have a good birthday?”

Sheila smiles over her phone. “I had a wonderful birthday, sweetheart, thank you.”

“So, um,” he roughly swallows a bit of potato he should’ve chewed more. “Are you guys doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh, your father always plans something small. It’s so close to my birthday, it usually just rolls into one.”

“Right. Makes sense.” His mother smiles at her phone, tapping at the screen. He takes a sip of water. “But do you do anything for him?”

She lowers her phone, a sweetly sinister smile creeping onto her face as her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Are you asking for yourself, Kyle? Is there someone I should know about?”

He groans. “No, Mom. Forget I said anything.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed of—”

“I know that, thank you.”

“Can you at least tell me her name?”

_“Mom.”_

“Alright, alright, forget I asked!” 

She picks up her phone again, sneaking glances as he attempts to calm himself. He knows he’s being obvious, but as long as she thinks it’s about a girl it can’t hurt, can it? 

“But how do you…” He has to be precise with his words, searching for a way to ask without the use of pronouns. “...know what’s the right thing to do? If you can’t ask about it.”

She crunches a carrot, leaning on her elbow like a humanoid Bugs Bunny. “Men aren’t very thoughtful. It’s not an insult, Kyle, it’s biology. A woman will get her man the most thoughtful gift or gesture she can think of, and he’ll hardly even notice. Meanwhile, they have no idea what to do for us, so they pile on every romantic thing they can think of hoping something will stick. It’s rarely what the woman wants, but the thought is nice.”

“That kind of… sucks. Doesn’t it? Neither of you end up happy.”

“Oh, it all comes out in the wash. There’s more to marriage than Valentine’s.”

“I’m not talking about _marriage,_ Mom, jeez.”

She wipes her hands on a napkin and stands. “I find it’s best to be direct. Ask her what she wants and if she doesn’t tell you the truth, then that’s what she gets for being shy.” 

He rolls his eyes while her back is turned. “Thanks.”

“Of course, bubbeh.” She leans over him from behind, pecking him on the cheek. “Now you promise me you’ll bring this girl home if things go well?”

Kyle thinks of Stan, toweling off in the bathroom upstairs, one of Kyle’s dresser drawers completely dedicated to Stan’s socks and underwear.

“Um. Sure thing.” 

That night, they lie in bed together, Kyle’s fingers twisting in the hair at Stan’s temples. They’re too tired from the day to fool around as they often do once his parents are asleep, and an hour ago Stan provided them with an edible containing an indica strain that makes his limbs feel like they’re sinking into the mattress. Stan is surprisingly cuddly, or maybe not so surprisingly if one thinks about it hard enough, slotting himself flush against Kyle’s side at the end of each day. Kyle wonders if it has anything to do with Stan’s parents’ abandonment and their lack of affection, and whether this will spoil what they have, sanitizing Stan’s associations with Kyle to something familial. He’s not worried about this tonight, thinks that maybe he shouldn’t be worried about it ever, since he’s never found evidence to support the theory in any way. He thinks that it’ll likely take a while for his brain to stop manufacturing reasons why Stan can’t possibly have feelings for him. This, at least, isn’t wholly his fault. Society taught him that bisexuality is basically heterosexuality with minor deviances, strange exceptions that fade away when it comes time to settle down. Kyle shouldn’t have to see himself as an exception, and in his high state he holds up his middle finger to the ceiling as a proverbial fuck you to the world that made him think so. 

Stan hums at the movement, turning onto his stomach, head resting on Kyle’s shoulder. “I’m fall asleep,” he mumbles, rubbing his brow back and forth.

Kyle chuckles. “Good night.”

Stan groans something back, tugging on the collar of Kyle’s shirt and tilting his face to him, puckering his lips as he whines. He gets like this sometimes when he’s high, demanding in his affection. The only thing sweeter than this boldness is how shy he gets when confronted about it later, hiding his face in his palm trying not to smile. It pinches something in Kyle’s diaphragm and he tries to convey his adoration through the kiss, short as it may be. 

He lies half awake a while longer, thoughts swirling nonsensically around the central topic of “fuck society.” Fuck school, fuck rules, fuck South Park, fuck parents, fuck the idea that just because he’s a guy he can’t make a thoughtful Valentine’s gift. With renewed energy he slips out of Stan’s grasp, seating himself in front of his computer. He plugs in his headphones, opens up a browser window, and gets to work. 

* * *

Regrettably, they wake only after Kyle’s alarm has been blaring for twenty minutes, his mother knocking sharply on the door and shouting that they have exactly half an hour to get ready for school. Panic clutches Kyle’s heart for three seconds until he hears her footsteps moving down the hall. His parents know they share Kyle’s bed, but it would be a surprise to see them in their current position, firmly snuggled with legs twisted together. Stan barely lifts his head from Kyle’s chest before flopping it down again, sighing into his skin. 

“Morning,” Stan says, sleepy enough to not be self-conscious kissing Kyle’s arm, collar bone, then neck, though maybe he’s just gotten more comfortable with time. 

Kyle sits up in bed. “Morning.” It feels like he’s still asleep. He finally called it a night around 2 AM, slipping back under the covers, head floating with relief. 

Stan pushes up onto his elbows, facing Kyle. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, leaning forward to kiss him.

Kyle is about to respond when his mom knocks again. Through the door, “I mean it boys! Up!” 

They dress quickly, making no other mention of the date. Kyle half expects rose petals to shoot out of his closet when he opens it, but there’s no sign of bears or hearts or even the color red in sight. Stan’s present is secured at the back of his top desk drawer, hidden beneath an old pencil case. He wishes he could take it out now, review it for mistakes or anything embarrassing he might’ve missed while inebriated. They head downstairs and Stan throws him an extra pack of pop tarts with a wink. They’re strawberry, pink frosting. It sort of counts as celebrating.

Kyle has to crane his neck around the bundle of balloons tied to the back of MIllie Larsen’s chair to see the board. She’s not the only one with gifts—Red has tokens from a number of suitors and a few others have single roses or heart-shaped boxes from boyfriends sat on their desks. Even Clyde has a stuffed zebra from Bebe hanging out of his backpack, a bright red lip print left on his cheek. Craig hassles him for it at the lunch table, hassles Stan too for being single when he tries to join in on the Clyde-bashing. Kyle tries not to take offense that people think it’s sad for Stan to be alone on Valentine’s Day and not him, like it’s expected somehow. He cheers some when they all lay into Cartman, who insinuated that he gets more action than Jimmy. Sitting on top of the table, Stan leans his back into Kyle’s shoulder for support. Kyle can’t see Stan’s face but he focuses on his laughter, the odd closeness he feels keeping this mutual secret, safe from even playful ridicule. There are some upsides, for now.

Kyle flakes on his tutoring appointment and walks with him to a drop on the way back home. Stan tells him to wait by the bushes around the side, shocked when he walks up to Butters’s front door. Linda Stotch, apparently, likes a nice hybrid to close out her weekday evenings, to the ignorance of the rest of her family.

“Oh my god,” Kyle hisses when they’re out of earshot. “How have you never told me this before?”

“My clients value discretion.”

“Dude.”

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you if there’s any other juicy ones.”

“Any you can think of off the top of your head?”

Stan hums. “Honestly, it’s a lot of moms. Jimmy’s mom. Craig’s mom. Cartman’s mom, but she buys from Kenny, not me.”

“Holy shit, dude.”

“I know, right? It’s like half the women in this town can’t cope without THC.”

“Better than pills, I guess.”

Sheila is home when they arrive and Ike is soon to follow, but she lets them colonize the living room with Xbox and a host of snacks littering the coffee table. She floats from the dining room to the kitchen, unable to resist checking in on her husband as he makes the meal for once. They end up on the floor in front of the TV, legs stretched out in wide V’s. Kyle presses his socked foot over Stan’s, sneaking his big toe onto Stan’s sole so he flinches and misses his shot. They go on like this for some time, sabotaging one another with light touches and ticklish jabs, simultaneously flipping Ike the bird when he comes downstairs for dinner and calls them queers. 

Gerald gives a toast to Sheila at the start of the meal and she tears up when the four raise their glasses to her. It’s hard enough being one of two gay people in this house, so Kyle can only imagine how lonely it must get as the only woman among them. He and Stan take over the dishes again and Kyle wishes his mother a happy Valentine’s Day before they head upstairs for the evening. They spend another hour or so on a quiz for Stan’s online course, Kyle acting as hint-giver and general moral support, even though Stan doesn’t really need the hints. He likes having the option, and Kyle likes the way Stan sits between his legs while they do it, burrowing his face into the nape of Stan’s neck. 

The other bedroom doors are closed and lights dimmed when they venture out to brush their teeth. Kyle’s pulse picks up when Stan smiles at him in the mirror, foam coating his lips. T-minus four minutes give or take until their Valentine’s begins. He ate extra at dinner so he can use the excuse of being too full to eat candy or chocolate now. Plus, he just brushed his teeth. If it’s a stuffed animal he hopes it’s not one with the hard plastic eyes, those always creep him out. Stan puts his hand on the small of Kyle’s back in the hallway, pushing him toward the bedroom door. 

“Hurry up,” he whispers. “I want to show you something.”

Kyle flushes and goes to his desk while Stan shuts the door. His hand is still on the door knob when Kyle speaks.

“Can I go first? Please?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Stan says, stepping closer and sitting on the floor. 

“Cool. So, um.” He holds the gift behind his back, faltering before deciding to sit first, then hand it over. “I’m actually _not_ good at Valentine’s, it turns out. So. Sorry about that. I promise I didn’t blow it off, this is just the best I could come up with.” 

Stan turns it over in his hands, a piece of printer paper folded up into an envelope of sorts with a CD inside— _HVDSM_ scrawled in sharpie on the front.

“Oh dude, sweet! Thank you.” He flips over the paper, more of Kyle’s handwriting in ballpoint.

“That’s the card,” Kyle sputters. “The track titles are—they make a sentence, I guess.”

The track listing, in order:

  1. **Happy Valentine’s Day** \- Outkast
  2. **Stan** \- Eminem
  3. **You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me** \- The Zombies
  4. **&** \- Tally Hall
  5. **You Oughta Know** \- Alanis Morissette
  6. **I’m Yours** \- Jason Mraz
  7. **I Want You To Want Me** \- Cheap Trick
  8. **Forever & Always **\- Taylor Swift
  9. **You and I** \- Ingrid Michaelson
  10. **Let’s Stay Together** \- Al Green
  11. **Always** \- Rilo Kiley



“I honestly haven’t heard most of the songs,” Kyle says, scratching his neck. “I just used google and youtube. Sorry if it sucks.” 

“Oh my god.”

“I couldn’t decorate it or anything in case someone found it, so it’s kinda plain. I don’t know, I was really high when I made it, it’s stupid.”

“Dude.” He throws his arms around Kyle’s neck, squeezing hard enough to cut into his air. “Kyle.”

He squeezes Stan back, nosing at his collar. “So you like it?”

“Fuck, dude.” His voice sounds wet and his smile is huge when they pull back. “I fucking love it. That’s so clever. You thought of that when you were _high?”_

“I was freaking out about it, dude, that was the only time I could actually think.”

Stan kisses him, lingering a moment before leaning back. “I’m shocked, dude. Who knew you were such a sap?”

“Don’t worry, you’re about to out-do me in a second.”

“What?”

“Go on, get yours out.” Kyle gestures at him. “I’m ready to see how the professionals do it.”

“Oh, fuck, I didn’t—I honestly didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.” Stan crosses his arms over his stomach, apologetic smile creeping onto his face.

“Wait, what?”

“I don’t know, you just said it made you really nervous, so I thought you wanted to be lowkey.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m really sorry. I feel like such a dick.” 

“No, you’re not, that was—that was thoughtful of you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Kyle laughs and scoots closer to him, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. “Don’t be. Now I’m shocked.” He laughs again, to Stan’s confusion. “So wait, you didn’t get me anything—like at all?”

“Well, no,” he shrugs. “I mean, I had _something_ planned.”

“What is it?”

“Now it feels kinda stupid.”

Kyle nudges him. “Tell me.”

Stan is beet red, bleeding down his neck and to the tips of his ears. He speaks quickly, running his words together. “I was just gonna suck your dick for like half an hour.”

“Dude!”

“Fuck,” he laughs, burying his face in Kyle’s chest. “I sound like such an asshole now.”

“No you don’t.” Kyle gets his arm around Stan’s neck, mussing his hair. “As if I’d last that long.”

Stan tuts. “I have ways.”

Kyle feels something in response to this, leaning back a little to look at Stan’s face. “Seriously?”

Stan snickers. “Only one way to find out.”

Kyle crawls onto the bed, Stan grabbing the CD off the floor.

“Can we put this on?” he asks. 

Kyle hums. “I don’t know. It might ruin the mood. I’m serious about it sucking, I don’t even know half the artists.”

Stan laughs. “That’s the most you-way to approach a playlist.”

“Don’t though, my parents might hear.”

“Yeah but if it’s just quiet, they might, you know. _Hear._ ”

Kyle groans, embarrassed at being called out on this. “Fine.”

Stan puts it into Kyle’s dusty old boombox setting the volume just loud enough to decipher the lyrics. He flips off the lights and the LED display casts an alien glow over the room, just bright enough to create faint shadows. So they’re not together in the dark, just the dim. He’s happy, more than he’d hoped for. 

“I seriously can’t believe this,” Kyle laughs as Stan hops on the bed, settling in his lap. “I thought I needed to have a talk with you about being discreet.”

“Pft. Fuck no, dude, I’m not stupid.”

“I thought you got me like, a bear and chocolate or something.”

“Why the fuck would I get you that? You’d hate that.”

“I know, but Wendy said—”

“ _Wendy?_ Dude, I’m not the one you need to worry about being obvious—”

“Shut up.”

He does that, kissing Kyle in earnest, translating a whole day’s worth of frustration and affection to match his own. They shuck off their shirts, reacquainting themselves with the other’s neck, hands, chest, jaw, hips, arms. Kyle’s so lucky to have this, him, in darkness and shadow and in light. Stan grinds his hips down onto Kyle’s, shifting when Kyle makes a louder noise so he’s farther away, pulling at his waistband. 

“So can I give you your present now?”

Kyle nods, catching Stan’s smirk before his eyes slip shut. He was totally right—Stan is great at Valentine’s Day.

**Author's Note:**

> how are we feelin about march 10 fellas - excited? scared? nervous? all three??? let me know...


End file.
